o tunes. I never heard tunes like his before. He
plays them, and then explains to me what each note means; and then
he plays the tune again, and I can see the whole story. That is why I
love him--sometimes!"

"Then you _do_ love him?" Geoffrey was clutching pathetically for
anything which he could understand or appeal to in this elusive
person.

"I love him," said Yae, pirouetting on her white toes near the edge of
the chasm, "and I love you and I love any man who is worth loving!"

They returned to the lake in silence. Geoffrey's sermon was abortive.
This girl was altogether outside the circle of his code of Good Form.
He might as well preach vegetarianism to a leopard. Yet she fascinated
him, as she fascinated all men who were not as dry as Aubrey Laking.
She was so pretty, so frail and so fearless. Life had not given her
a fair chance; and she appealed to the chivalrous instinct in men, as
well as to their less creditable passions. She was such a butterfly
creature; and the flaring lamps of life had such a fatal attraction
for her.

The wind was blowing straight against the harbour. The bay of
Sh[=o]bu-ga-Hama was shallow water. Try as he might, Geoffrey could not
manoeuvre the little yacht into the open waters of the lake.

"We are on a lee-shore," said Geoffrey.

At the end he had to get down and wade bare-legged, towing the boat
after him until at last Yae announced that the centreboard had been
lowered and that the boat was answering to the helm.

Geoffrey clambered in dripping. He shook himself like a big dog after
a swim.

"Reggie could never have done that," said Yae, with fervent
admiration. "He would be afraid of catching cold."

* * * * *

At last they reached the steps of the villa. They were both hungry.

"I am going to stop to lunch, big captain," said Yae, "Reggie won't be
back."

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw Gwendolen Cairns listening last evening when he spoke
to me through the big trumpet. She tells Lady Cynthia, and that means
a lot of work next day for poor Reggie, so that he can't spend his
time with me. You see! Oh, how I hate women!"

After lunch, at Chuzenji, all the world goes to sleep. It awakes at
about four o'clock, when the white sails come gliding out of the green
bays like swans. They greet, or avoid. They run side by side for
the length of a puff of breeze. They coquet with one another like
butterflies; or they head for one of thos